Mr Spaceship
by transistor.robot
Summary: Just past the boundary of human space exploration, there's a tiny spaceship. Inside the spaceship is a terraforming team with one too many doctors. There's also faulty communications equipment. One of these things may be a problem. Part 4 of Someone You'd Admire.
1. Chapter 1

and I was hoping when I finally see you  
could you hold me to the light?  
Let those beams shine in and through you  
and let those beams shine through me, too

-Chad VanGaalen, _Inside the Molecules_

* * *

See, that's the thing about being psychic. We don't have it, and yet we think we understand it. I don't know about you, but I've read stories. Stories where the characters treat the mind more like a location than, well, a mind.

It's really not like that at all.

I never really signed up for this. It was all her. Amy, I mean. Oddly enough. Looking at the two of us, back when we were kids, I suppose you'd assume I was the one who'd go for this sort of thing. But I'm not. Amy always was the one who dreamed. I just went along with it. I never dreamed of space. Well, a bit, but not like her. My dreams were about her.

And then her imaginary friend popped out of a cake. At my stag do. Yeah.

I went along with it mainly to make her happy. She'd always wanted to travel with him in his mad box. Who was I to say no?

Her imaginary friend was completely mad. He was alien, in nearly every sense of the word. He was so different than anyone I'd ever met that I couldn't help but dislike him at first. I think the thing that put me off him the most was how uncannily _human_ he was. Looking at him, I could almost fool myself into believing he was human. A young man, about my age, with a distinctively shaped face and terrible fashion sense. And then he opened his mouth.

He's told us he was psychic before; actually, the word he used was _telepathic_, and while I've read enough sci-fi to know the difference, I'm not entirely sure he does. Psychic is psychic. Either way, it never really was much of an issue, and considering how human he seemed otherwise, it was actually pretty easy to forget. It's not like he plows into Amy's and my head. Often. That I know of. Evidently we're pretty dense as a species, and we generally can't tell if someone's reading our minds unless they're really not very good at it. We can, however, pick up messages when they're particularly strong.

And that's where Jenny comes in. His daughter. Mad little thing. Adores her dad. Amy doesn't quite know what to do with her. Amy's a bit too brash and Jenny's a bit too serious for them to really get on. I mean, they do. Definitely. But I wouldn't say Amy's taken Jenny under her wing. But yeah.

When Jenny first came on board, she had no control over her telepathic(psychic) abilities. Every time she felt some sort of emotion, so did we. It got very bad very quickly. Like the time she got mad at the Doctor.

We were on the planet Exilon. There were blue pastries and a memorial square that had a statue of a man who the Doctor denied knowing. Which is a change.

"Sure you don't know him? He looks like a Time Lord," Jenny said as the Doctor dragged her through the square by the arm. Amy and I were lagging behind a bit, Amy because she was trying to listen to the conversation and because I was blowing on the steaming blue pastry the Doctor had told me was _divine._ This from a man who eats fish fingers and custard. Oh yes. I've heard the stories.

"I don't know every Time Lord," he said shortly. Like her father, Jenny's not very good at heeding warning signs, so obviously she twisted her arm free and ran to the statue. The Doctor stood still for a moment, obviously upset, and then briskly stalked over to the statue. Amy followed right behind him, and I, of course, followed her.

Jenny stood at the base of the statue, peering expectantly at the inscription as she waited for it to translate. Looking down, I noticed it hadn't translated for me either. The Doctor grabbed her arm again, all sharp blazing anger, and made to pull her away when she asked him why the inscription hadn't translated.

He grimaced and looked down at the inscription, and his voice was soft and heavy with emotion as he replied, "It's Gallifreyan."

I felt a sudden strong wave of excitement, tinged with the intense sort of curiosity I'd come to associate with Jenny. The Doctor felt it too, because he was dragging her away again, more forcefully than before. We then felt her curiosity quickly shift into indignation.

See my problem? I'm trying to explain this to you, and the only words I can think of to describe it don't really explain it at all. I'm saying it felt like a wave because that's the closest thing I can think of. But really, it wasn't a wave at all. And I didn't even feel it. Feeling someone else's emotions is entirely different than feeling your own. You can tell the difference. Which sounds mad, but it's true.

Anyway, we felt Jenny become indignant, as did most of the other people in the square, I'm sure, as her father dragged her away from the statue. He, of course, was one of those people. In response to the mounting tension, he muttered, "You shouldn't have done that."

This of course did nothing but to increase the size of the metaphorical wave of indignation. The curiosity had mostly gone away, as it was slowly being eroded by something much colder.

When we got out of the square, the Doctor found an reasonably deserted doorway and pulled Jenny into it with him. The two stared daggers at each other. The Doctor repeated himself, louder this time. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Why?" I could feel the anger pouring off of her, permeating the air, but it was an odd anger. Anger implies passion. Passion is a hot sinewy strong sort of emotion, filled with wild pulsing life.

This anger was not alive. It was dispassionate and cold and ruthless.

"Because I said so!" Before this, I'd never heard the Doctor raise his voice, and despite the fact that I really didn't understand the background of the situation, I found myself empathizing with his anger over hers.

She was silent for a long few seconds. I half expected thunder to clap behind her. It was bizarre, in retrospect. Scared of a small girl in a bright orange coat. At that moment though, her physical appearance was almost entirely inconsequential; the main thing I was sensing from her was the cold, dark, inhuman anger.

She's really a sweet little thing.

"You've really got to learn how to get that under control," The Doctor said darkly. "You're clouding yourself with an aura."

I'm assuming he was trying to goad her into talking, because I can't imagine why else he'd say that. It worked, too.

Quietly, she murmured, "Why couldn't I read it?"

"The TARDIS doesn't translate Gallifreyan."

Again, Jenny fell silent. It was shorter this time, and less tense (at least from my standpoint).

"Why, then, haven't you taught me any?"

"I don't kno-"

"It's my language!" she roared, and finally the ice around her anger broke, and hot, passionate, and righteous anger flew out and coated the street. I found I was able to look at her again, and she was beautiful.

I wonder if she looked beautiful when her anger ran cold, and I just wasn't able to sense it. I'm glad I can't.

When I say beautiful, I don't mean I think she's beautiful. I mean, I'm married. Not to say she's unattractive. She was beautiful, but not the 'oh-blimey-I-want-to-do-things-to-her' beautiful. More the type of beautiful you keep locked up in a box far away. Very far away. Dangerous. Intense. Super-human. Not sexual. I'm really not attracted to her. At all. Seriously.

Right. Then.

The main reason I mention this is because I wanted to tell you a bit about how psychic (telepathic) powers work and feel to us mortals. Can't just go rushing into this story without explaining how it works. I'm pretty sure if Amy were telling the story we'd be halfway done by now, but I'm the one doing this. So you get an explanation beforehand.

And now I tell you about the time we met the madman and his ghosts.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Before I get started, I'd like to thank a few lovely people. Namely PhoenixDragonDreamer and moonstruckgirl15 for their wonderful, hug-filled reviews, Seiga Niko for adding this silly little story to her favorites, and Einna Dreamer, the wonderful person who's following this. _

_Of course, I'd also like to thank everyone who's been reading my stories, regardless of whether you've been following this whole thing since August or whether you've just randomly clicked on this story for the first time. Yes, you. Especially you. Thanks for reading. :)_

* * *

For the record, the madman wasn't actually mad.

"So, where were we supposed to be going again?" Amy asked, poking her head out the door of the TARDIS. I hate it when she does that. It really doesn't seem safe. Amy thinks I'm being stupid, and Jenny's explained the air shell extension around the TARDIS, but I still can't help but think it's a bit...rash. One of these days, the Doctor's going to forget the air shell, or the air shell thing-o-metre will just break, and somebody's head is going to swell up and explode.

"Gliese 667 CB. Not all that far from Earth," the Doctor replied, bustling around the console like he normally did after landing the TARDIS. Probably putting up the air shell.

I've heard some pretty terrible planet names in my time with the Doctor. This was definitely one of them. "Lovely name," I said as I walked over to join Amy at the door. Luckily her head hadn't exploded. I was glad. I'm really rather fond of her head. And neither did mine, in case you were curious.

"That's what you called it," the Doctor stated, with a slight grimace.

Jenny, meanwhile, was standing on tiptoes, grasping the sides of the console monitor and drawing it down toward her. Her bright orange coat lay abandoned on the jumpseat, exposing her practically fluorescent blue and orange polka-dotted dress. It was a bit odd to see her out of the coat, actually. Bit like seeing her dad without a bowtie.

She was grinning. Not an excited grin. More smug. I caught her eye, and she winked at me. Something was up.

Amy stopped peering out the door of the TARDIS, and shut it behind us. She fixed the Doctor with a slightly skeptical look. "So, what's Gliese 677 CB supposed to look like?"

"Bit like Earth. Only the water's hot. They have to cool it down."

"Really?" Jenny mused, head tilted in thought. "I wonder how they do that."

The Doctor replied, "Oh, you know, the usual. Refrigeration units."

"Ohh."

"Still, blue skies, green grass, the lot?" Amy asked.

The Doctor waved his hand as he answered blithely, "Yeah."

Now I got it.

"We're not on Gliese 677 CB." I stated, looking over at Amy, who had just started grinning.

Jenny snorted. The Doctor shot her a look. She looked down at the floor, a slight smile still on her face.

"We're on a spaceship in the Gliese 581 system," She said, still looking at the floor. The Doctor then bounded over to the console monitor, sliding slightly on the floor and forcing Jenny to jump out of his way. He looked at the screen, then at his daughter. Then at the screen. Then at his daughter.

"I read the screen," she stated lamely. It looked like she wasn't entirely sure whether she should be apologizing or smirking.

"That's close," he said loudly, after a pause.

"Only 3.3 lightyears apart." Of course Jenny knew that. From anyone else, I'd think that was a slightly pompous and unnecessary display, but it was Jenny. She really couldn't help it. Didn't make it any less annoying.

"Like I say, close."

Amy, who's always been good at diffusing the Doctor's more cantankerous moods, briskly clapped her hands together and grinned. "Either way, a spaceship's not bad at all! Actually, I don't think you've ever taken us to a spaceship. So, hey! Let's go! Spaceship!"

She bounded out the door, knowing the Doctor would have no choice but to follow her. Which he did. Sometimes I wonder how the two of them manage to stay alive. They just walked into a spaceship. In space. You can't just pop in for a cup of tea in space.

Being a sensible person who generally is loath to get involved in potentially violent messes, I hung back. Jenny, who was in the middle of putting her orange coat back on, noticed my hesitation. She raised an eyebrow at me from the other side of the console.

"Could be dangerous out there." I said, by way of explanation.

"Probably," she replied, with the faintest hint of a wry grin. "Depends on your definition of 'danger'.

Right. I forgot. She's the Doctor's daughter. She's mad too. She looked down at my hand, which had somehow placed itself on the door handle, and her grin widened.

"You love it," she said, and brushed past me on her way out the door. I followed her.

The TARDIS, thankfully, had materialized in a room that looked like a storage cupboard, so our entrance went unnoticed. The Doctor and Amy had apparently found somewhere more interesting to explore than a storage cupboard. Evidently it was quickly turning into one of those situations where we have to rescue each other.

Jenny stood at the door and pressed a finger to her lips. Her hand hovered over a small orb in the wall, which she then pressed. The door opened, and we went out into a corridor.

The Doctor and Amy were pressed against a wall in the corridor, hands in the air, as a young blonde woman pointed a gun directly at their heads.

The Doctor craned his neck around to see who had approached, and smiled lightly when he saw us. "There you are, Jenny. I was wondering when you'd show up. Now can you explain to Ensign Eaton that we're not going to hurt her?"

"We're not?" She asked, mock-seriously.

In an instant Ensign Eaton was standing in front of the Doctor, her gun lodged in his stomach. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

"I read it on your shirt."

"You tell her whatever you like. She hurts you, I'm not making any promises." Jenny said, arms crossed as she glared at Ensign Eaton.

Ensign Eaton wasn't about to have any of it. "That's it. Against the wall."

"All I meant was that you can never be certain about anything. Especially mortality." Jenny said while being slammed against the wall.

"Jenny, shut up." Amy hissed.

"Now tell me, what're you all doing here?" Ensign Eaton said loudly, attempting to be threatening and failing spectacularly. Poor girl.

"No idea." The Doctor replied. "We were heading to Gliese 667 CB, not Gliese 581. Got a bit lost, I suppose."

"That's 3.3 lightyears away." Jenny told her.

"Not bad." The Doctor remarked.

"Want me to bring the rest in?" Ensign Eaton threatened. It was obvious to everyone that she was quickly reaching the end of her patience. Impatient, annoyed and carrying a large gun. Not a good thing. She was practically wearing a big sign around her neck, displaying the words 'Do Not Antagonize' in bold, happy letters.

"There's more of you? Yes, by all means! I'd love a little chat." And then I remembered that I was here with the Doctor.

Ensign Eaton fired her gun into the ceiling.

* * *

Marty Ogden was, in his own opinion, the luckiest man in the world. Sixty-four years old, an amazing wife, two brilliant kids. A grandchild on the way. Wait. She must have had the baby already. Did she? He'd definitely remember being told about that. She must be due soon. He'll ask next time.

But yes. Luckiest man in the world. Sixty-four years old, Ph.D from Caltech, Nobel Prize in Chemistry, chair of Brown University's Exogeology Department, MacArthur Grant winner (though the money was long gone), author of innumerable academic papers and six books.

And now he was in space. Hence the luckiness.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Commander Ruby Perez stood, hands on hips and brow furrowed in an expression that showed exactly how much she wanted to throttle him. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar and grinned down at her.

"Enjoying the majesty of space, Commander Perez." He couldn't help but widen the grin after the last bit, effectively removing any sincerity from the statement.

She looked at his shirt. It had toucans on it. The toucans were flying around palm trees and hibiscus flowers. She suddenly realized that Marty's shirts were the closest she'd gotten to the beach in four years. It really didn't bother her. She was more interested in hiking. Maybe fishing off the Powell River.

Tearing her eyes away from the toucans, she fixed them on Marty's cigar. "Put that thing out."

Marty rolled his eyes as he spit into his palm and put out his cigar. He reflected on how the the mere presence of military authority turned him into a petulant child.

Commander Perez made to leave. But before she left, she turned around and said to Marty, "We're going to hit the thermopause in three hours, Lieutenant Commander Ogden."

Marty stiffened with excitement at the news. "That means you're going to need me," he stated.

Commander Perez was slightly taken aback at his sudden change of manner. Oddly enough, the shift from joviality to purposefulness endeared him to her. Slightly. He was, for most intents and purposes, an old man who made it his business to be a pain in her ass. But that didn't mean he wasn't a professional.

"Please don't smoke in the control room," she said, as she once again left Marty to his own devices.

Lieutenant Commander Martin Ogden, Ph.D looked out a tiny window at the surface of Gliese 581 D. He was about ten hours away from stepping onto an alien planet. Yup. Definitely the luckiest man in the world.

* * *

When Marty got to the control room, sans cigar, he was confronted by the sight of Lieutenant Allen Brooke-Rice pacing across the room, obviously trying to make it seem like he was doing something while calming himself down. Allen Brooke-Rice was a short and nervous man with a pasty British complexion and a permanent sheen to his skin, like he was always just staving off a severe bout of nausea. Which, considering his space-sickness, was definitely possible.

He was the only other civilian on the Hermes 7, other than Marty. According to his records, Allen Brooke-Rice was a telecommunications engineer from Hampshire, England. Far more importantly, he was the great-grandson of the famous Mars colonist Adelaide Brooke. He was also the first human born in space. Ironically enough, he was the only person Marty had ever met who became ill at the thought of interstellar travel. He'd been doped up on Dramamine for the first half of the trip, and since then no one on the crew had seen him without either chewing gum or a piece of crystallized ginger in his mouth.

Right now, Allen Brooke-Rice was chewing on strawberry-flavoured chewing gum. When Lieutenant Commander Harry Kahn came up behind him and gave him a hearty clap on the back, he swallowed and almost choked on the gum.

"Ooh, sorry about that, mate," Harry said quickly, while Allen Brooke-Rice coughed loudly and violently.

Allen was actually rather pleased that he was presently coughing; his stomach was too distracted to feel nauseous. When he managed to collect himself, he reached into his pocket for another stick of gum.

Harry sauntered over to the co-pilot's seat and struck up a conversation with Marty. He laid his hand down on the seat in an almost possessive manner. He was a bit odd about his chair. Marty had often thought that it was either a deep-rooted Freudian impulse to possess, but then, his degree was in exogeology. No need to psychoanalyze the guy just because he didn't like him.

He grinned at Marty. His normally bright grin was slightly tense. "We're going to be hitting the atmospheric shell in three hours. Can't get over it. It's brilliant. "

Marty was about to reply, possibly with something mildly comforting, when Commander Perez and Lieutenant Martin stormed into the control room, their boots as they discussed a problem with the communications equipment.

"I've taken a look at it, and I can't find anything." Lieutenant Martin stated.

"It's giving people electric shocks."

"We can still use the comm, though."

Marty, however, had noticed something marginally more interesting. "While we're on the subject, where's Ensign Eaton?"

"Her cabin." Harry replied instantly. Everyone else turned around to look at him. Luckily he had the grace to look embarrassed.

After a brief awkward pause, Commander Perez went back to what was, in her opinion, a far more important issue. "The Houston comm shouldn't be giving people shocks."

"Yeah, but they're not intense. Like touching a balloon after rubbing your feet on the carpet."

Commander Perez gave him a look.

"Maybe a bit more than that."

With a directness that shocked no one, least of all Lieutenant Martin, Commander Perez stated blankly, "If I see any more problems with the communication equipment, it's on your head."

The word 'communication' caught the attention of Allen Brooke-Rice. "Communications equipment? What's wrong with it?"

"Evidently it gives you a nasty shock." Harry said from behind the co-pilot seat.

"But I'm communications. That's my title."

"And Lieutenant Martin is Systems Maintenance. You run the equipment, Jean fixes it." Commander Perez replied.

"Um, Ruby?" Marty spoke up.

"Yes, Marty?"

"It's shocking people? Might have something to do with the atmosphere. We haven't hit the thermosphere yet, but we're close. Could be that."

Allen Brooke-Rice pretended to think on the idea for a few seconds before nodding sagely.

"That could be it. Yes."

If anyone had any intention to respond to Allen Brooke-Rice, their response was forever lost as sound of a gun firing echoed throughout the Hermes 7.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Is it? Could it be? It's an update! I'm surprised too! _

* * *

"Who are you working for? The Philippines?" A tiny American woman who wasn't Ensign Eaton asked the Doctor, again shoving a blaster into his back. She was a bit older, and darker as well, and unlike Ensign Eaton, was utterly in charge of herself, the ship, and the blaster.

"The Philippines?" Amy repeated incredulously.

"Yes, the Philippines." A tall dark man replied.

"No, no we're not working for them. Or anybody. We're...what do you lot call them?" The tiny angry American woman sighed impatiently as the Doctor flailed around in his mental lexicon. Amy and I shared a frustrated look. Jenny, meanwhile, hadn't bothered to pay attention at all, instead choosing to stare intently at a door. It wasn't even an interesting door.

Flanking the sides of the tiny American woman stood two large men, one, who was tall and dark and had a name-tag with the name 'Kahn', and another with a spectacular set of eyebrows whose name-tag I couldn't read. Ensign Eaton had either run away, or she was standing behind them. Either way, I couldn't see her.

"You call them... starts with an 'f'...no, not fugitives...we're...we're...freelancers." The man with the eyebrows seemed visibly unimpressed. As was I.

Although, to be fair to the Doctor, there's really not anything you can say in these sort of situations that doesn't come off as ridiculous.

"Freelancers?" The man with the eyebrows asked incredulously.

Jenny, tactful as ever, came back down to earth in just enough time to remark, "Don't worry, we're classy ones. With lots of experience. James Bond in space. We've even got the accents and all."

Kahn's blaster suddenly was pointed at her back.

The Doctor roared, "Don't you dare touch her!"

The tiny American woman roughly flipped the Doctor around to face her, and nose-to-nose, she stated, "You showed up here. On this ship. You have no business being here. We're outside international boundaries. Don't you dare tell me what to do."

She flipped him back, and the man with the eyebrows handcuffed him, and then Jenny, and finally us. At that moment I thought of a lovely little nonchalant phrase, but ultimately chose not to say it. Because they have guns and I have common sense.

After we were all handcuffed, the tiny angry American woman said, "Lock them up. Lieutenant Martin, stay with them. Lieutenant-Commander Kahn, you're with me."

That, of course, left the four of us with the one with the eyebrows, whose name evidently was Lieutenant Martin. Of course, I could read it off his shirt now. He pulled out his blaster and waved it at us.

Lieutenant Martin herded us down the hall, past the room with the TARDIS in, to a nondescript doorway. He then opened the door to another storeroom, identical to the one we had parked the TARDIS in, and gestured with his gun at us, silently ordering us to get in. Which we did. Silently.

Lieutenant Martin found a bucket and sat down. The four of us looked at each other awkwardly.

"Sit, why don't you," he said in a not quite hostile manner, pointing his gun at our heads and at the floor. Amy, Jenny, and I instantly slid to the floor. The Doctor, on the other hand, took advantage of the opportunity to rummage around for a bucket. Failing that, he looked at the floor with something close to disdain, and began the arduous task of maneuvering his limbs into a compact bundle designed for sitting.

Lieutenant Martin, along with Amy and I, watched the Doctor's attempt to sit on the floor, simultaneously enjoying the spectacle and slightly dazed by it as well. I don't think any of us were sure whether to mock him for it, or to be jealous of his flexibility. Jenny, on the other hand, thought nothing of it.

"What are you looking at?" She asked me, while the Doctor tried to place his legs in a cross-legged position, one leg at a time.

"Oh, nothing, really." To my left was a loud _flump, _which meant that the Doctor had managed to reach the floor in some fashion.

Amy leaned back behind me and Jenny to glare at him. "That was ridiculous."

"Really Pond, I have no idea what you're talking about."

* * *

FIVE-ISH MINUTES LATER:

"Who do you work for?" Lieutenant Martin asked sharply, breaking the silence.

"We're freelancers. I told the tiny American that earlier." The Doctor said, leaning his head on a shelf.

"Mmm." He replied.

* * *

ALMOST TEN MINUTES LATER:

"Who do you work for?" Lieutenant Martin asked sharply, breaking the silence.

"He said. We're freelancers." Jenny muttered, fixing Lieutenant Martin with her best sullen teenage girl look. It fit her well.

Lieutenant Martin paused and chewed on the information. "Right. You people better start telling me something that isn't complete bullshit."

"No can do, buddy." I told him.

Lieutenant Martin chose to ignore me. As per usual.

* * *

SOMETHING LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER:

"Who do you work for?" Lieutenant Martin asked sharply, breaking the silence.

Jenny, eyes big and guileless, replied, "We said already. We're freelancers."

"Freelance _what?"_

She shrugged at him, and waving a hand blithely, answered, "I've no idea. No one's said."

Lieutenant Martin pointed his blaster at the Doctor. "Tell me what your deal is."

The Doctor's only response was to raise an eyebrow and stare at the gun. "Really, threats now?"

"No threats. Only promises." Lieutenant Martin stated, quiet assurance evident in every line of his body. The Doctor leaned forward, meeting his challenge, his strange eyes boring into Lieutenant Martin's. Abruptly he sat back.

"As you like," the Doctor said dismissively.

And then I asked Lieutenant Martin a question. Not a simple _lovely day isn't it_ sort of question or the ever-popular _who's your favourite Beatle _question. I asked him the sort of question you should never ask a man with a gun. A provocative question. In the 'provoke to anger' sense. Honestly, I've no idea why I did it. If I'd actually thought about saying it before hand, I almost certainly wouldn't have said it.

"Mind telling us why you're treating us like criminals?"

Amy pinched my leg.

"Cause the way I see it, we've done nothing wrong other than show up."

Amy then punched my arm.

"You're acting like the Doctor," she hissed.

"Hey!" The Doctor and I said in unison, which did nothing to disprove Amy.

Jenny jumped in. "Well, when you consider the fact that we're out in space, it _is_ quite suspicious," she told me, in her best 'reasonable' voice.

"Yeah. That's pretty much it." Lieutenant Martin acceded.

With that said, the five of us seemed fit to fall back into silence, but Lieutenant Martin evidently figured he'd give it another go.

"So, is there any chance you're going to tell me who you're working for?"

Amy scoffed. "We've told you."

"Yeah. I've seen snow before."

There really was no response to that. And then Jenny said something.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what if you've seen snow before?" I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking the same thing.

The Doctor realized that this was the point at which he needed to say something, and with a slight smile toward Jenny, obliged us. "No, he said _ j'ai vu neiger. _It's an expression. Quebec, I presume?" he asked Lieutenant Martin.

"You know French?" He asked the Doctor.

"No." The Doctor replied. "Well, yes. Well, not really, But it all comes out to the same thing."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Explain."

"I mean the TARDIS is translating. It's translating his French into English."

"So everyone on this ship is French?"

"Canadian." Lieutenant Martin corrected.

"Right." The Doctor said dismissively. "No. Just him. Maybe. No, they definitely weren't."

"How can you tell?"

"Context, dear girl." Jenny nodded understandingly. She then gave it slightly more thought, brow furrowed adorably, and apparently realized she didn't actually understand, as her thinking face became more and more confused.

"Right, let's change the subject!" The Doctor said brightly. "Let's turn the proverbial table on you, Lieutenant Martin. Conversationally speaking, that is. Tell me, who do _you_ work for?"

I've seen the Doctor use this particular tactic more times than I can count, and to this day it amazes me how almost everyone falls for it. They always end up telling us everything we need to know, and often end up foreshadowing events in our near future. It's bizarre. What's also bizarre, in my opinion, is how much Lieutenant Martin didn't fall for it.

"Like you don't know." Lieutenant Commander Martin stated, massive eyebrow raised sardonically.

"Exactly. Like I don't know. Who do you work for?"

"UNSCA," he answered slowly, as if dealing with a willfully daft five-year-old.

Then the door opened. All of us stood up, anticipating the sweet taste of freedom. The path to freedom, however, was blocked by the tiny American woman, this time accompanied by a blond man with a curious expression on his doughy face.

The tiny American woman fixed her steely gaze on Lieutenant Martin. "Lieutenant Martin, any intel on them?"

"Nothing of any use."

"Names?"

"No. One of them's a doctor, though."

"Which one?"

"That one," he said, pointing to the Doctor.

"That's all you found out?"

"They're tight-lipped." I smirked at that.

The tiny American woman stared at Lieutenant Martin and his obvious incompetence, then sighed noisily and said, "Back to the bridge. Two and a half hours till the thermopause. Lieutenant Brooke-Rice, stay with them."

Lieutenant Brooke-Rice made a sound of protest, but the door shut before he could articulate any sort of word. Slowly he turned around to face us.

And that was how we were locked into the store-room again, this time with a blond man with the sort of sweaty shine on his forehead that probably made people avoid shaking his hand. He sat on the bucket, and stared at us.

* * *

THIRTY INCREDIBLY AWKWARD SECONDS LATER:

Not only did Lieutenant Brooke-Rice not have a blaster, he also didn't have any inborn sense of authority. He did, however, have a stick of cinnamon chewing gum. Within seconds the entire room reeked of cinnamon chewing gum. That, combined with his inability to convey the proper sort of menacing manner as befits a man holding other men captive, led to a sense of general relaxation in the tiny store-room.

Amy sat on the floor beside her husband, her head drooping onto his shoulder. Rory was staring up at the ceiling. Jenny, sitting next to him, was also looking up at the ceiling, although she was trying to figure out what exactly about it had caught Rory's attention. Lieutenant Brooke-Rice was blowing cinnamon-flavoured bubbles and popping them loudly. The Doctor jumped each time a bubble popped.

This little equilibrium stayed for a short while, until Amy thought of an extremely useful question.

"So, what's UNCSA?" She asked the Doctor.

The Doctor's gaze whirled around to meet hers, and after shaking himself slightly, answered, "UNSCA. People call it 'uk-sna'. Stands for United Space Colonization Alliance. It's between Britain, the United States, and Canada."

"And they colonize space?" Amy asked, as Jenny rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Luckily for her, Amy didn't pick up on that.

"Eventually. At first it's more of an idea than an eventuality. And judging by the architecture, you've not got the capabilities yet. Am I right?" he asked, addressing Lieutenant Brooke-Rice.

He replied lamely. "Yeah. We're a scoping team."

"Terraforming?" At that, Jenny looked down from the ceiling, fixing her attention squarely on Lieutenant Brooke-Rice.

"Mmhm, yes."

"And we're in the Gliese system, nearing the thermopause, according to your American commander." The Doctor stated, narrowing in on a particular train of thought.

"She's Canadian."

"Same difference." The Doctor replied.

After a few moments' thought, the Doctor stood up, and walked back and forth a few steps, muttering, "I should know this. But I don't. Why don't I?"

"Maybe it's not fixed?" Jenny asked, helpfully.

He stopped his pacing, fixed her with an intense look, and quickly shifted into a sort of 'lecturer mode'. "Well, you tell me, Jenny," he asked her. "Does it feel fixed?"

She replied by closing her eyes momentarily. "No, not particularly," she said as her eyes opened.

The Doctor smiled at her. "Then it isn't. Still, there's something I'm missing." He looked around the room, eyes darting for a clue. They eventually came to rest on Lieutenant Brooke-Allen's name-tag.

"Oh! That's it! You're not related to Adelaide Brooke by any chance?"

"She's my great-grandmother." Lieutenant Brooke-Rice replied, puzzled.

"Oh really? I met her once. Only the once. A while ago." He drifted off momentarily. "Wonderful woman. Really I mean that. I say it a lot, but she's...she's something special. Really."

"How could you possibly have-"

"And you! You must be the father of-have any kids?"

"No."

"Got a wife?"

"No."

"Got a girl?"

"No."

"You should probably get on that." He looked Lieutenant Brooke-Rice over once again. "Soon."

After an extremely awkward pause, the door opened again. Marty Ogden stood on the other side, grinning and twinkling in that ostentatiously merry manner he had. Everyone's eyes went directly to his be-toucan-ed shirt.

"I couldn't help myself. You say you're a doctor?"

"Among other things."

"Marty Ogden. I'm their science guy."

At that, the Doctor smiled. "A science guy! Love a science guy. I'm the Doctor, this is Jenny, and these are the Ponds, Amy and Rory."

"Nice to meet you all." He held out his hand. "Oh, can't shake your hands."

Amy gave him a slightly annoyed look, which he interpreted as confusion.

"Because of your handcuffs."

"We know," she said.

The Doctor was similarly put out. "So you wanted a chat with us, did you?" he asked, not nearly as pleasantly as before.

"Well, partially that, and partially because I think it's a bit insane to keep five unarmed people in a storage closet."

"So long as we don't try anything stupid, of course."

"Obviously."

The Doctor smiled at Marty, who grinned back.

"So you're their science guy?"

"Don't they need their science guy on the bridge?" Jenny asked.

"I may have had ulterior motives," he admitted, pulling out the cigar he had been smoking earlier.

"Really? You're smoking?"

"Everyone has their vices, Doctor. And anyway, I'm celebrating."

Rory boggled. "I just can't believe people smoke in the future."

"Two words for you, Rory. Tobacco lobbyists. And the indomitable desire of the human spirit to go out and kill itself."

"He said, while in handcuffs after having broken into a spaceship." Amy said, archly.

"While we're on the subject," the Doctor said, as though his dignity had never been impugned, "is there any chance you can get these off us?"

"Nope," he replied, taking a long drag from his cigar. "And if I'm going to be perfectly honest, I'm curious about how you got in. Nothing on our sensors. There's no way you could have stowed yourselves in cargo. How'd you do it?"

"Ever heard of Houdini?"

"Yeah. Escape artist. Is that what you did?"

"No."

Marty's telecom rang, a loud no-nonsense series of beeps, and he fished it out of his pocket. When he put it up to his ear, a visible electric spark shot from the phone to Marty's head. He jumped and dropped the telecom on the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Marty exclaimed, holding his ear.

"No idea." The Doctor answered, bending down to gingerly pick up the smoking telecom.

Marty watched the Doctor pick up the ruined telecom. Slowly he said, "For some reason, I'm doubting that. I'm taking you all to the bridge."

* * *

_By the way, 'thermopause' is a fancy word for 'the edge of the atmosphere'. Thank you Wikipedia. I know I'd be all confused if someone kept throwing it around in a story without explaining it, so I figure I'll be a nice person and tell you down here instead. As always, thank you so much for reading, and if you're not too busy, please take a few seconds, scroll down a bit, and write a little message about how awesome you think Mr Spaceship is. Thanks. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_And without any further ado, here's chapter 4. :)  
_

* * *

Despite his initial dislike of the handcuffs, Marty Ogden did have to admit that they turned out to be useful. Even if the one who didn't seem to stop talking had managed to pick up the telecom. Though as far as Marty was concerned, he could pick up whatever he liked off the floor, so long as he couldn't get into his pockets. Really though, not removing those handcuffs was a streak of luck.

He walked behind his charges, giving short directions at necessary intervals. Despite his senses telling him that they were mostly trustworthy, if not odd, the facts themselves made him think rather the opposite. When given the choice, he'd rather keep an eye on them than not.

The other man looked harmless enough, if annoyed, and the red-headed woman was walking awfully close to him, as if they were an item. She looked like she could easily cause trouble if provoked. Marty wasn't sure what sort of trouble she could cause, just that she was more than able to cause it. The talkative man, who had been silent since the telecom exploded, kept looking down at the girl at his side. It was obvious he felt somewhat protective toward her, which made sense, considering her age. The girl, for her part, hadn't said a word. Her head was down, eyes on her feet.

She looked up at the man at her side suddenly, brow furrowed. "Did you feel that?"

He turned his head to her sharply.

"Back there, with the thing. Did you feel that?"

His gaze fell on Marty, who raised an eyebrow, and turned back to the girl and nodded once.

"What do you think it was?"

"Jenny, stop talking." The red-headed woman stated bluntly. The girl, Jenny, promptly did just that. For a bit.

"It was like when someone's at the door, only in your head."

Just then, the door to the bridge slid open, and Commander Ruby Perez's voice came booming from inside the room.

"What the hell are_ they_ doing here?"

* * *

Around the time Marty had run off with the prisoners, Lieutenant Allen Brooke-Rice took a detour on his way back to the bridge. He wasn't in any rush to get back. Dealing with those prisoners had managed to turn his vaguely unpleasant mood into a full-blown ill humour.

Like the progeny of any famous person, he hated more than anything having to deal with people talking about his grandmother. Like any single person, he hated having to deal with people talking about his perpetual lack of female companionship.

But anyway, it didn't matter to him, Allen Brooke-Rice told himself. After all, the bloke who bothered him was really weird. Really, really weird. That thought, the likes of which generally gave him some solace in these sort of occasions, only made him feel worse. Which made him angry. A vindicated, righteous, distracting anger, tinged with just enough self-pity to keep it going far longer than it reasonably should.

His stride became stronger and slightly more buoyant, and that was what made him trip on his shoelaces.

He ended lying on the ground, artificial gravity pushing his face into the painfully hard Berber carpet. His first thought was that he almost definitely had carpet-shaped marks all over his face. As he picked himself up, he found himself staring out into space through one of those floor-to-ceiling windows he always tried to avoid looking through. Rather than the stars, Allen Brooke-Rice saw an alien planet for the very first time. Gliese 581 hung just outside the window in all its blue and purple-ish swirly glory, a mere 600 km away.

He looked out the window a fraction of a second longer than he normally would have, given the circumstances. He might not have been interested in space exploration, may have been actively sick at the prospect of zero-gravity on several notable occasions, but he never was one to ignore the gravity of a moment.

His first instinct was that there was something unspeakably unpleasant about the planet below. He then realized how silly that was, how nice and blue it looked, how nice and blue and swirly it was.

Then he fell back to the floor, this time screaming nonsense, limbs flailing uncontrollably until he briefly lost consciousness and fell still. Then he got up and continued walking down the corridor.

* * *

"What are you doing, bringing them in here?"

Marty opened his mouth to speak, but realized he wasn't visible from the bridge. The people he was holding prisoner were in front of him, awkwardly standing in the doorway as if unsure whether they should go in. He roughly ushered them in, and brought himself around to face Ruby directly.

"You called for them."

"I called for them," she replied, indicating Rory and Amy, "not _them,_" indicating the Doctor and Jenny.

"Oh, well, that's welcoming," the Doctor deadpanned.

"It doesn't really matter now. They can stay," Ruby said to Marty, who was about to take them out.

"Why us and not them?" Rory asked.

"We did a scan. You two checked out. Them, not so much."

The Doctor grinned.

"Oh, I get it! That was a brain scanning booth!" He looked down at Jenny. "No wonder, eh?"

Just as Ruby's forehead began to crease in suspicion, he addressed her. "Why all the mops?"

Lieutenant Jean-Louis Martin, knowing Ruby's temperament, decided that the best way to diffuse the situation was to quickly change the subject. He whirled around in his chair to face Amy and Rory, and with one hand resting on the back of his chair, began to tell them about the 'brain scanning booth'.

"It's designed to read brain waves and determine the cause of sudden behaviour changes. Also predict psychotic episodes. After that last outbreak of Brock's Deep-Space Psychosis, it became standard equipment. It's a bit useless, honestly. We're using it as storage."

Rory, who had stopped listening after 'brain waves', let out a sort of 'oh' sound when Jean-Louis stopped talking.

Amy, who had listened, asked, "So, why'd you put us in there?"

"The pod can detect the origin of the brain waves, and from there, the emotions and thoughts. It can't read minds," he said quickly at Amy's alarmed expression, "just the general sense of the emotions. Which is kind of vague, but really, it's all you need to determine if someone's up to no good."

Then Jean-Louis got up from his chair, and addressing the Doctor and Jenny, said, "The results of the scan describe the majority of brain activity in each emotional state...most people have one or two high-ish scores, and a whole bunch of little ones. Every single score is high. Pain, psychosis, joy, rage, excitement, fear, arousal, everything. It's bizarre."

With that, he stopped to curiously regard the Doctor and Jenny. The rest of the crew watched them with something close to fear.

"I'd say the scanner wasn't working if _they_ hadn't checked out," Jean-Louis continued, gesturing to Amy and Rory.

The Doctor's grin shifted subtly. He gave Jean-Louis an appraising look and said slowly, "Oh, it's working all right. We're not human. That's what the problem is."

The atmosphere in the small cabin suddenly became slightly more tense.

"Wait. What year did you say this was?" Jenny asked the Doctor.

"I didn't. Why?"

"It's before alien immigration, I think."

"Yes, I had gotten that."

"No, it's not," Ruby said, eyebrow raised. "Just not humanoid aliens. Or shape-shifters."

"Oh," the Doctor replied, though his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. "You know what's odd? We've been dragged all over this ship, and we haven't seen anyone else walking around. You've only got six people? On the whole ship? No wonder you lot need a sanity cupboard."

Having realized that the conversation was quickly going nowhere, Jenny attempted a different tack. She took a step forward, shooting a straightforward and direct look at Ruby Perez.

"Look, we're fine," Jenny said, gesturing to herself and the Doctor, who was mildly shocked, "we're not going to do anything, we don't have any plans to murder you all; now how can we get you to trust us?"

It wasn't the businesslike tone her voice had suddenly taken that was surprising, nor was it her sudden change of demeanor. She could hardly be considered a space cadet, except in the most literal sense, but since her regeneration, a particularly strong impudent streak in her personality made her, on the whole, far more inclined to willful obfuscation than straightforwardness. That was what was odd.

Jenny looked at the suspicious looks on the crew member's faces and raised an eyebrow.

"You think the Doctor and I have something to do with the communications equipment being weird," she continued, "and you're idiots for thinking so, but that hardly matters."

Amy tried pinching her arm through the thick wool of her coat, but either the wool or Jenny was too thick for Amy to get the message across.

"We don't. But if we fix it for you, will you believe me?"

Ruby Perez considered Jenny for a long moment. She eventually nodded.

Jenny grinned at her in thanks, a bright and flashing grin that almost seemed false in its magnitude.

"Right, then," she said, clapping her hands together and looking up at her stunned father, "how do we fix it?"

* * *

_A/N: Brock's Deep-Space Psychosis, which is exactly what it sounds like, is entirely made up. The name comes from the lead singer of Modest Mouse, who did a song about a woman in space who goes insane. It's called 'Space Travel is Boring'. So, yeah. That's where I got it from. :)_

_Another A/N: Please, please, pleeeease tell what you think of this story! *cough* No, I don't want to look desperate. Wait. I'm going to start over._

_A third A/N: I totally don't need your reviews. Not at all. I'm a stone-cold robot fanfiction writer who doesn't need any praise. *pause* No. That's not true at all. Tell me nice things! I neeeeed it! I can't survive without constant praise and attention! _


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